


That Hermes Over There

by OhNoHello



Category: Hades (Video Game 2018)
Genre: Coffee Shops, Crack, Cringe, Internet Famous, M/M, Masturbation, and his sad lonely masturbation time, camboy, shut in internet stalker Charon, slutty thot Hermes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhNoHello/pseuds/OhNoHello
Summary: Shut in Charon lives by himself and rarely sees the light of day let alone other people. Theres no reason to see anyone, to need to interact with the waking human world.Save for the beautiful camboy with the enticing biweekly stream that Charon never misses.
Relationships: Charon/Hermes (Hades Video Game)
Comments: 112
Kudos: 368





	1. Streaming Session

**Author's Note:**

> It is with great shame that I present this way too long fic about slutty thot Hermes and pathetic shut in internet stalker Charon and his sad lonely masturbation time. 
> 
> Yes there are four chapters
> 
> I don't know how that happened and yet
> 
> here we are

The dank of the one bedroom apartment came from a deadly combination of cigarette smoke, stacked take out boxes, and closed window shades. It existed in a persistent state of near silence save for the gun fire clicks of swift fingers over a keyboard. At one time, a neighbor had boomed the heavy bass of music through the walls, but a single look of unspeakable promises quickly put an end to that. Full days would pass without recognition. The sun would rise, the sun would set, and Charon would be none the wiser. 

Charon often spent days unaware of the world outside. Lost in his work and his lack of routine. Sleep came when he passed out. Food was only remembered by the time his stomach noisily protested. If he had nowhere to be, Charon would live out of the same four or five robes he had in rotation. 

Numbers danced across Charon's screen and reflected off his glasses. Someone else's money side shuffling from one secret account to another, going from dirty to clean, rinsed under Charon's careful hand. A cigarette dangled from between his lips, smoke huffing out into a noxious cloud and obscuring his vision for just a second. 

He was an accountant by trade, technically. Most of his clients preferred not to know him, for their own legal safety more than anything. A safe distance between their questionable activities and his questionable services. They would meet, once, and leave Charon to his duties with minimal interaction. 

It allowed Charon to work from home, to never leave the safety of his abode. 

It left Charon with a crippling inability to interact with his fellow humankind. 

Charon didn't mind. He didn't have much to say anyways. 

Charon rested his cigarette on the lip of a half full ashtray and stretched his arms overhead. The joints of his spine popped in a symphony of crackle. He grunted at the discomfort of it all. It stung when his eyes squeezed shut, wetting after being open for so long, and he saw after images of his computer screen. He'd spent far too long hunched over a keyboard again.

A perfectly aligned ray of sunlight hit on target, aimed directly in his eye. Charon winced and glared at the crack in his curtains. 

So the sun had rose again. Charon wasn't sure when it had set. He picked up his phone to see how late in the day it was. 

The backrest of Charon’s office chair squeaked as he slumped back. The blue glow of his phone screen illuminated his face and he stared at it, contemplating. 

He deserved a break. 

He opened his phone and almost immediately went to instagram. 

Hypnos had signed Charon up for all the social media apps and installed them on his home screen with the explanation of _'keeping in touch with the family.'_ Charon gave them all a chance, just one chance, and found them all lacking. There was very little that had caught his attention and very little he was interested in. The bird app was screaming into the void and the book of faces was only used for Thanatos' wine aunt memes. It wasn't until one night of curiosity that had gripped Charon did he find something worth keeping instagram around for. 

Charon scrolled through the cursory accounts he followed. A blurry picture of a flower from Hypnos. An inescapable meme with a one eyed yellow cartoon character from Thanatos. A poorly targeted ad for a diet program. Until finally. . . 

_His_ account. 

It was a simple picture that day. A pair of roller skates precariously dangled by their ties, held aloft by two fingers from an unknown source off screen. They were a brilliant shade of orange and a sparkle finish with blood oranged stops at the toe. Someone had painted a detailed set of white wings at the ankles. 

They suited him. 

The caption read _'Like the new wheels? Can't wait to try them out tonight ;)_

_See you then'_

Charon read the _see you then_ on repeat. Until he could hear the words. Whispered in his ear. Lips against his skin. Like the sentiment was meant for him.

His heart raced, looking forward to one of the only schedules he kept. 

Keys jangled in the lock as whoever on the other side struggled with the door. Charon's heart leapt and his blood ran cold. He was quick to shut off his phone, the screen blinking to black, before whoever was on the other side barged right in. 

Hypnos practically floated in, like he owned the place. Charon's brother never bothered with knocking and he wasn't about to start then. Sleepy eyes scanned the organized chaos that was Charon's home until, like a moth to a light, he found his brother's computer screen in the dark. His perpetual smile widened at the sight of Charon's tinted glasses. 

"Heeeyyyyy brother," Hypnos said, drawing the words out. 

Charon glared and looked at his watch. He half hoped Hypnos was early, but no, it was already Tuesday. Charon blinked his eyes, trying to wipe away the fuzz, and remember when the last time he had slept was. 

“Who’s ready for a walk?” Hypnos asked, as if talking to a dog. 

“Hrrmm,” Charon grumbled and put out his cigarette. The smoke danced through the dark of his room, the cigarette hissing quietly, all of it adding up to a dreamlike quality that he had missed in his workman-like focus. 

Charon shifted to stand, his ass having fallen asleep and his legs creaking from his horrible posture. 

“Come on,” Hypnos said, patting his thighs. “Lets go. Who wants walkies?” 

Charon shot his brother a bland look. He groaned in the back of his throat and signed to him to wait, heading to the bathroom for a shower. He might not care much what other people thought about him, but he wasn’t going to leave the house in sweats, smelling like an ashtray. At least not like a complete ashtray. Just half an ashtray. 

Hypnos made himself at home and raided Charon’s near empty fridge. There was an assortment of condiments and Hypnos went for the mustard. 

Ignoring whatever trouble his brother could get into, Charon went to the bathroom, turned on the spray, and let the shower wash away the grime of however long he had spent at his computer. He closed his eyes, feeling the heat of the water steam up his bathroom and prickle his skin. Behind his lids, he could picture the skates. A smile twitched on his lips. 

Strange how something so innocuous could be so titillating. 

They gave way to a sinful laugh that pierced Charon’s ears, full lips that curved into mischievous smiles, dark eyes that could see right through him. 

Charon turned the water to cold. 

Two sharp raps on the bathroom door told Charon he was taking too long. 

“I know its tempting, but don’t fall asleep in there,” Hypnos said from the other side. “I mean. . . I’ve done it once or twice and accidentally waterboarded myself. So I guess if you’re gonna do it, keep the washcloths away from your face.”

Charon shut off the water. 

He dressed in his normal outfit suited for the outside world, all dark draped clothing and a long coat, and Hypnos was always patient enough for Charon to put on all his jewelry. 

“Ready?” Hypnos asked when Charon finally placed his hat on his head. 

Charon gave one solemn nod and together they left his apartment. 

____

It was 9 at night and Charon was settled in his bed. Blankets pulled aside, pillows propped up against the headboard, and phone in hand. He sat in the waiting room of the stream, watching the place holder placard with its stylishly illustrated wings letting him know that the _’show would begin soon.’_

Charon was half hard from the anticipation alone. 

He shifted in place, pressing his back against the pillows and digging his heels into his sheets. He had dressed down into his sweatpants and that was all. Having once attended one of these showings stripped bare felt too revealing and wearing a shirt was far too stifling. He made sure to keep his other hand free, but resting innocently on his thigh. 

He wouldn’t touch himself. Not yet. 

Charon flicked his eyes to the time at the top of his screen and saw it was a minute to the hour. Some days he wished that the placard would fade and everything would begin early, just once, but the punctuality was one of the many things that attracted Charon in the first place. 

The clock ticked over. 

The screen changed. 

Charon breathed in deep, ready for the ride to begin. 

The camera turned on as it always did with the owner leaned in far too close, one hand off frame as he turned it on. He wore an expression of vague curiosity before it blossomed into an award winning smile. 

“This thing on?” the man on the other end asked, knowing full well that it was. “Okay. Good.” 

He shuffled back from the camera and it shifted into focus, giving Charon a full view of whatever new ensemble he had concocted for that evening. No matter what it was, it always made Charon’s breath catch in his throat. 

That evening it was a tight fitting t-shirt that stopped somewhere around his sternum showing off a well toned midriff. The shirt read _LIVE FAST_ in a slanted red rushing font that looked as if they were racing across the stretch of his chest, leaving behind drop shadows that faded from orange to yellow. Obnoxiously bright orange, sinfully short shorts hugged muscular, shapely thighs. 

Dark hair slicked back haphazardly and looking rakishly windswept. Skin sun kissed and perfectly unblemished over every last inch. An array of earrings ran up both his ears, colored like the sunrises Charon so often missed. 

Those chestnut pitch eyes seemed to see Charon, even through the screen. 

“Hey there everyone,” Hermes said. “I hope you’re just having the finest of evenings. Its so good for you to see me.” 

Charon could practically say the words by heart by that point. He’d heard them so many times in the exact same well practiced annunciation that he could hear the quick precise intonation in his sleep. 

Charon’s cock leapt at the sight of Hermes, but he only fisted his sweatpants, the fabric tight in his hand. Not yet, it was still too early. 

Charon wanted this to last. 

The intro out of the way, Hermes sat back on his bed. 

“So the other day I was out and about, you know as you do, and I decided to check out what I _thought_ was a sporting good store. You know, getting ideas for you all and what not.” 

He crossed one leg over the other, making a dramatic show of it. The move showed off white ribbed socks that ran up over his knees, lined with two bands of orange at the top. Charon’s eyes were solely focused on the way one bare thigh pressed up against the other. 

“Turned out it was a specialty shop?” Hermes laughed, bouncing his leg and leaning back on his palms. “Apparently there are these droves of people who buy roller skates and nothing but roller skates and roller skate paraphernalia and helmets and jackets and _uniforms_. Even little roller derby bobble dolls.” 

Hermes rolled his head back, revealing the thick column of his neck, his smile curled up in a playful groan. 

“For a moment I was in heaven,” he said. “I could have talked with those gals all day about their interest, but I think I might have done too much questioning and not enough listening. You all know how it is.” 

Hermes gave a quick wink to the camera, his head bopping to the side to do it and his earrings dancing with him. 

Charon swallowed and tightened his fist. Not yet. 

“But they were kind enough to take _a lot_ of my money, did you know roller skates are _expensive_?” Hermes leaned forward, almost making a show of dipping low, and when he sat back up, the roller skates from instagram hung from his fingers. They glittered in the circle light that was set up just off camera, the one that reflected ethereally in Hermes’ eyes. “But I think they’re worth it.” 

The roller skates dangled from his fingers, swaying gently from the momentum. Hermes looked directly into the camera, directly at Charon, and he smiled. Sinful and sweet at the same time. 

Charon couldn’t wait any longer. 

Not taking his eyes off the screen, he slipped his hand past the elastic waistband of his sweats. 

“I figured tonight, I’d show off a little bit,” Hermes said, as if he didn’t show off every time he was on camera. As if it didn’t come effortless to him. “Because I’ve been _practicing_.” 

Hermes scooted on his bed, shifting to the side, and propping one foot up on it. The laughable impractical, tiny shorts hiked up the curve of his thigh. Charon traced the way the shape of Hermes’ leg dipped, the spot where it stopped being leg and became more interesting. 

Charon wrapped his fingers around his dick. 

“Apparently, you have to really _mold_.” Hermes shoved his foot into the skate with a grunt, his leg kicking as he held it up in the air. “The leather around your foot and even then you got to _break_.” He pushed in once more and his heel snapped into place. “It in.” 

He sighed and smiled, still holding his leg high, and using impressive core strength to keep his body upright. He twirled the white laces around his fingers and began sinching them up, nice and tight, making each pull of his hands a little show of their own. 

“I did go through a fair amount of skates, had to try on half of the damn store to be sure, but you know.” He turned to face the camera again and gave another good yank. “I saw these bad boys from the window and I was instantly in love.” 

Hermes finished off the lacing with a perfect bow, his fingers far more delicate than they had been putting it on.

“When you know you know. You know what I mean?” 

Charon nodded in agreement. He moved his hand, stroking his dick in slow deliberate motions as his eyes tracked Hermes’ body. He tried to go slow, to twist his wrist and trail his thumb. To pretend the evening was sensual in nature and not utilitarian, but he’d give out soon. He’d forgo any flair and formality and descend into quick, efficient pulls of his cock.

The shape of Hermes’ hip, the way his waist bent and creased as he went to pick up the second skate, the curve of his jaw. All of it. Charon coveted the sight greedily. 

“Call me easily distracted by something pretty, but I like something shiny.” Hermes pulled the second skate on with more gentle ease than the first, slipping his foot past the neck and letting his hand run up over his sock clad calf. “And just a little bit of sparkle.” 

He draped one leg over the other and rotated his foot in the air, making sure to look directly in the camera as he always did. Always aware of his captive audience. 

That one little movement was enough to stir Charon’s blood even more. 

“So I bought the damn things,” Hermes said. He shrugged, casually lacing the second one up, as if they were having a simple conversation. “Call it a splurge buy or a stupid impulse or retail therapy for a bad week, but I am officially the proud owner of a pair of gaudy skates and a helmet I refuse to use.” 

Both skates on, Hermes placed them on the bed, knees bent and leaning back on his elbows. 

“And if you see me skating around town.” 

Hermes leaned back, resting against the bed and held onto his lower back. He propped his hips up in the air, his barely covered ass leaving the bed, and let his legs reach up into the sky. 

“Feel free to say hi.” 

Hermes stared right at Charon. 

“I like it when people say hi.” 

Charon jerked harder and tried not to reach his normal pace. It was still much too early. But with a look like that, his hand moved of its own accord. 

Hermes giggled, that lilting little laugh, as if to a joke someone had said, and rocked his head back. His earrings gently jingled against one another. He kicked his skate clad feet in the air with glee before rocking back to sitting. He rolled to upright and immediately hopped to his feet, a brief burst of energy that Hermes was known for. A breathless continuous being that could probably go on and on if his viewers let him. 

Charon would let him.

Hermes leaned forward, resting his hands against his knees, and smiled into the camera. Smiled at Charon.

“Do you like?” 

Charon nodded and jerked a little faster, his pants dancing with his hand. 

“Good,” Hermes said, his smile pulling at the corner in the most adorable way possible. 

And they both knew it. 

Hermes bit his lip, did that little laugh again, all the small moments that turned what should have been a detached show between strangers into something far more intimate. The way his giggle echoed through tinny cell phone speakers might as well have been in Charon’s ear. 

“Well how about the rest of it?” Hermes asked, standing upright. 

He planted both skates on the floor and spun in place. The sounds of plastic wheels bumping over wooden floors rumbled through the phone. Hermes spun, hands out at his sides, and showed off the rest of his uniform. The shirt had been pulled taut and tied in the back, just to make it a little more tighter across his chest. The little orange shorts hugged the curves of a generous ass and did little for modesty. There were words written on the back of them that Charon couldn’t quite make out until Hermes stopped. 

_EAT ASS_

Each word only slightly distorted from the shape, leaning in to meet one another like the arc of a valentine’s heart. Soft folds of plush cheeks poked out of the bottoms of the shorts that could do nothing to contain Hermes. 

Hermes swayed back and forth to a song that wasn’t playing, hips bouncing from side to side, and he leaned forward slightly to push the offending words back to the camera. He looked over his shoulder to see who was still paying attention. 

Charon was paying attention. 

He whined in the back of his throat, memorizing each and every detail. The dimples in Hermes’ back, the shape of his spine that disappeared under his shirt, even the way his legs spread slightly. 

Charon’s hand stuttered and he gripped too tight. A damp spot stained his pants. 

“Well I thought it was funny,” Hermes said, circling back around. He spun just a little too far, his hips still turning and his arms limp and spinning like a flared skirt. But his eyes. 

His eyes stayed focused. 

“There are a couple of things I like about these skates, you know,” he said. He slid backwards slowly, floating just the few inches, until his legs hit the bed. “I like the freedom of them. The speed.” 

One by one, Hermes lifted his legs backwards and crawled up onto the bed. Not needing his hands to balance himself, letting them dangle at his sides, not blinking. As if entranced. Chin tilted low to make his eyes hungrier as he stared Charon down. 

“I like how _fast_ I can go,” Hermes said, on his knees, on the bed, wheels still spinning. “Do you want to go fast?” 

_No_ Charon screamed in his mind, but his hand disagreed and cheered Hermes on. 

“Rolling down the street, wind in my hair.” Hermes crouched backwards, leaning back to sit on his skate. One hand trailed over his thigh, the other over his stomach, worshipping himself exactly as Charon would. Touching himself in all the places Charon wanted to touch. “Sometimes I close my eyes and I’m the only one there. Its like I’m flying.” 

Hermes closed his eyes then. He didn’t often, but when he did, it was as if he was taken to another place. His mind transported to a spot where no one could reach him. Where he was above it all. 

His head rocked back again in performative ecstasy. 

“Wouldn’t it be great to fly?” he whispered, more to himself. 

The hand on his thigh trailed up, pulling at the scant bit of fabric of the shorts and revealing more and more inner thigh. His other hand snaked up the taut hem of the shirt, pushing it up and skewing the words. 

Hermes sighed and let his head drop down, let his gaze pierce right through Charon once again, pin him to his headboard and hold him down. 

Charon whimpered and bucked up into his hand. 

The chatter had died down. It would come back and oh how Charon wished the mile a minute speech would come whispering back into his ear, but the show dipped into a rare natural lull where Hermes vamped. Fingertips disappeared under the hem of his shorts. His shirt lifted to reveal a finely sculpted chest and a pert nipple. He ran his hand up his shirt, up out the collar, and up to his face. A pink tongue came out and licked his fingertips. 

Charon hated how long he failed to last. 

Not daring to close his eyes, Charon bucked forward. He clutched the phone so as to not drop it and brought his face too close. His vision dominated by the nymph that licked his fingers, that was just shy of touching the strain in his own shorts. 

Charon bit his tongue and ruined his pants. 

Hermes gave one last lick of his hand and grinned as if it had all been a joke. He laughed and extracted his hands and reached behind himself to grab an ankle. He pulled his leg to the side at an awkward angle.

“Maybe one day,” he said. “You’ll catch me taking a running leap over a ramp and on that day we’ll see if I can fly.”

He bent his body, showing off incredible flexibility, bringing the skate closer to his face, and spun a wheel with his finger. 

Charon puffed out a sigh and flopped back against his headboard. Without taking his eyes off the screen, he reached for the tissues by his bed to clean up his mess. He listened to Hermes prattle on, slipping into the kind of music he listens to when skating, how he likes to shut the world out. 

Once clean, Charon flopped onto his side and held the phone in both hands, cradling the little world Hermes lived in like a precious bird. 

He listened to Hermes talk, watched the lulls where he slipped into something more desirable. Teased and laughed and moaned at his own ministrations. 

The little outfit stayed on the whole time. 

Hermes didn’t strip. He never revealed himself bare on camera. It was stated in plain, clear letters that he would never do a nude show. He only ever showed as much skin as he needed. He didn’t need to show all that much. At least not for Charon. 

The first time Charon had come across him, he had been dressed in suit pants, a smart button down, tie, and suspenders. Feeling himself up under his pants, shirt untucked, a right awful mess. 

He had enraptured Charon from the first second. 

“I’m not particularly fond of certain things,” Hermes said, running his hand up the bed between his legs. “There is a time and a place for _ah–!_ ”

He ran his hand over the grossly ignored bulge in his shorts and the effect of it was instantaneous. The way he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip in sweet delirious pleasurable pain. A want that was almost bare and honest. Just enough to make Charon’s spent cock twitch with pathetic interest. 

There wasn’t enough time left to the stream to indulge in that particular recovery. 

Charon instead pressed the little dollar sign button at the side and sent Hermes a generous tip. There wasn’t much that Charon did with his money, there wasn’t much he wanted to spend it on, but he was willing to give it to Hermes. As a thanks. For his orgasm. 

For his company. 

Charon watched the rest of the stream without doing more than lay on his side. 

“Well, thanks for spending the evening with me,” Hermes said, winding back down to his default of charismatic performer. “I had a _very_ good time and I hope you did too. Remember, take care of yourselves because I care about you lots. Bye.” 

He gave a little wave that was typical of his outros, but that time he pulled his leg up close to his chest and tugged on the band of his socks. The elastic snapped against his skin. 

And the time ran out. 

Charon sent Hermes another tip. 

____

Charon had precisely two regular schedules that he kept up with: Hermes’ biweekly streams and his once a week outings with Hypnos. 

Every other Tuesday, Charon would go to Hypnos’ apartment and wake him up so that he got outside. And on the other Tuesdays, Hypnos would go to Charon’s to make sure he didn’t work himself into an early grave. At one point or another, Thanatos had been the one to take them out, see the sun once in a while, but his priorities shifted and he came around less and less. 

Hypnos and Charon kept the tradition up. 

It was good to get outside. 

Every Tuesday, Charon and Hypnos would walk in near silence to the coffee shop that was the midpoint between their two apartments, share an hour or two of more near silence, and then part ways until next week. It wasn’t much, but Charon appreciated the time he spent with his brother. 

Doing better than Hypnos, Charon actually knocked on the apartment door. It was only when he didn’t get an answer that he would unlock the front door, fully expecting to find his brother asleep. 

What he found was Hypnos sprawled out on a beanbag in the middle of his main room, large plastic bag filled with opaque smoke pressed to his lips and breathing in deep. His eyes opened lazily at the sight of his brother and a puff of marijuana laden smoke flew from his lips. 

“I knew I was forgetting something,” he said, voice sounding clogged and muted. 

Charon rolled his eyes and stepped inside. Hypnos followed him with his gaze all the way to Charon shoving his hands under Hypnos’ armpits, and lifting the boneless entity off the floor. Hypnos went to take another puff, but Charon plucked the bag from his hands. 

“Aw c’mon Charon,” Hypnos whined. “It’ll go to waste. And you know what mother always said. Waste not want not.” 

Hypnos paused, still not fully standing under his own power. 

“Was that mom?” 

Charon groaned and guided his brother to the bathroom for a shower. He stood by the door and knocked on it every so often, knowing full well Hypnos would fall asleep if Charon let him. After nearly an hour of coaxing his brother around the house, getting dressed, and sober enough to stand on his own two feet, they left for the Tartarus Grounds. 

It was a particularly mediocre shop, technically a chain with three storefronts over the city, and was well frequented by the 20 something up starts that populated that particular stretch of town. An amalgamation of elements that Charon despised. Thanatos had been the one to pick the spot and simple inertia kept them going. 

“Mocha latte cappuccino iced tea please,” Hypnos said, half flopping over the counter. 

Their regular barista, who had infinite patience for Hypnos, laughed. 

“We have a new chocolate chip macchiato if you want to try that out today?” he offered. 

“Please and thank you!” Hypnos said, eyes closing and not opening again. 

“And the same large black coffee?” the barista asked of Charon. 

Charon tapped his chin in thanks and nodded. 

They waited among the swirling crowd of too many people, standing between the counter and one of the deflated looking couches designed for maximum, corporate comfort. It was their usual post, close enough to the counter for Charon to stuff napkins into his pocket for later, but enough for him to intimidate the current occupants of said couch. Charon typically took off his wide brimmed hat, not needing to look more of a scarecrow than his too tall visage already painted, but he chose to be terrifying that day to get the other patrons out of the way faster. 

Hypnos leaned against Charon, either fast asleep or pretending to be. When the couch opened up, Charon gave his brother a gentle nudge, and Hypnos tumbled limply over the arm, nestling his cheek against the folded hands. He only sat up when Charon returned with his sugar monstrosity. 

As he always did, Charon removed his hat and set it on the arm of the couch, to fully settle into the quality time with his brother. 

They enjoyed what little of the morning was left. Charon sipped his coffee and let his eyes fuzz and fade, not taking in details of the world around him. Idly, Hypnos would make off hand comments about this or that, but they flowed right through Charon. He responded with soft grunts or nods, but otherwise didn’t engage. 

The irritation of being out of the house was quick to build up that day. 

Whether Hypnos noticed or his drink was simply deceptively addictive, but it wasn’t long before the telltale sound of air being noisily sucked up through a hollow straw. Hypnos kept trying to drink the nothing in his cup until Charon took it from him, leaving a plastic straw to dance up and down between his lips. He spit it out into his hands. 

“Time to go?” he asked. 

Charon nodded. 

He walked his brother out the door and, with Hypnos’ assurances, let him wobble home himself. He was pretty sure Hypnos didn’t have his eyes open. 

Amused, Charon shook his head, and turned to head to his own apartment. 

And promptly smacked right into a flurry of enigmatic animated limbs and a too long scarf. 

The force of it was enough to stagger even brick house Charon and his coffee flew from his hand. The cup danced through the air, aimed right at the offending attacker, and hit him square in the chest. Long since gone cold, the coffee spilled and did little more than stain a white shirt. 

“Oh shit,” the white shirt owner hissed. “Dammit I just washed this.” 

Charon froze. 

An icicle went ramming through his heart at top speeds, skewering it until it stopped beating all together. His feet rooted in place and his arms mimicked rigor mortis with such fine tuned accuracy that Charon thought he might have died. 

He wished he were dead. 

There, drenched in Charon’s cold coffee, standing far smaller and more diminutive than he had been on Charon’s phone screen, was none other than the man of his fantasies. 

Hermes. 

His hair was styled the same and he wore the same earrings that danced with every movement of his head, but other than that, he was shockingly normal. Well, normal compared to the man Charon saw twice a week. In jeans and a plain t-shirt, wearing a light jacket and an oversized scarf. It was almost a disguise, an alter ego compared to the man that invaded Charon’s dreams on a near nightly basis. An attempt to look normal. 

Still, to Charon, he stood out. 

A brilliant beacon among a sea of plain faces. 

Hermes’ brows rose in alarm and there was no anger to be found. 

“Are you okay?” Hermes asked. “I didn’t hurt you did I? I know I can be a bit of a bowling ball when I’m in a hurry and I hit you pretty hard huh?” 

Charon didn’t move. Charon couldn’t move. He could only hold his hand in the air, fingers still coiled where a cup once was, eyes wide and terrified. 

Like staring down a predator. 

Hermes waited on an answer. When he didn’t get one he leaned in a little closer, ducking into the shade of Charon’s hat. Charon could see the beginning definitions of his chest peeking out of the V neck of his stained shirt. His mouth quirked in that half smile Charon knew so well. 

“Hello?” he asked and it sounded like a laugh. 

Charon looked down to the growing coffee stain rorschached across Hermes’ chest. He finally managed to jolt to action and reached into his pocket, grabbing a fistful of napkins that he had stolen. Without thinking, he pressed the napkins to Hermes’ chest and attempted to mop up the stain. It wasn’t working and all Charon managed to do was lay his hands on the body that he had wanted to for so long. 

He almost froze up again and almost dropped the napkins. 

“Ah thank you thank you,” Hermes said, plucking the end of his shirt out to hold it taut and make it easier on the both of them. “But I think we’ve lost this one.” 

Careful not to look Hermes in the eye, Charon swallowed and kept attempting to clean up at least one of his messes. 

“Looks like you got a little on your. . .” 

Hermes reached out and swiped at the front of Charon’s jacket. He pat at Charon’s shoulder in gentle smooth motions, as if flicking dust away. Charon stopped his futile attempt at a garment cleanse and managed to look Hermes in the eye. Hermes rested his hand on Charon’s shoulder, the smile he wore unlike anything Charon had ever seen from him before. 

It took a moment before Charon realized. 

He wasn’t trying to seduce him. 

Hermes flicked the brim of Charon’s hat, tilting it back on his head. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Hermes asked. “You seem a little dazed. I didn't hit you too hard did I?”

Charon pulled back and away. Away from touching Hermes, away from Hermes touching him. He quickly signed without thinking. 

_no I’m okay_

“Oh!” Hermes said. He moved his hands quickly and spoke in another language. _Sorry. Didn’t realize you were hard of hearing. Are you okay?_

Charon’s world dropped out. 

Hermes had given up so much about himself in those little streaming sessions. He talked about his day and when he moved and what he liked. He talked about hobbies, new and old, and little habits he picked up. It was almost like Charon knew the man intimately and in some ways that was true. 

He did not know Hermes knew how to speak his language. 

His hands fumbled as he tried to answer. 

_not hard of hearing, just mute_

Hermes smiled again, that same strange smile that was both familiar and foreign so far away from the bedroom. 

_I’m still sorry,_ Hermes said. “Can I buy you a new coffee?” 

Charon wanted to say no. He wanted to scream no. His fingers rose, ready to sign no, but only held in place. His neck held stiff when he tried to shake it. A perfect mannequin before Hermes. 

“I insist,” Hermes said, not waiting a second longer for Charon’s answer. 

The hand he rested on Charon’s back was like a brand. There were very few people who could maneuver Charon around, could make him do something he didn’t want to do and push him in places he didn’t want to go. 

Hermes proved himself to be one of them. 

Back into Tartarus Grounds they went and back into the serpentine line that ran through the claustrophobic shop. The barista seemed surprised to see Charon again, but no less amused. 

“Another large black?” he asked. 

Charon nodded dumbly. 

Hermes leaned over the counter to order a tea latte, leaning into his hand as he gazed up at the menu to say the words just right. A glimpse of the flirtatious nature that he held behind the camera, slipping out in micro doses. Enough for Charon to overdose when he was already so saturated. 

When Hermes paid, Charon couldn’t help but think Hermes paid with money he’d given him. 

Charon fully intended to take his drink and go, but Hermes pulled on his sleeve and jerked his head in the direction of an empty table. 

“Come on,” Hermes said. “I can’t go anywhere with this shirt so I gotta cancel my plans. Make it up to me and sit and chat for awhile.” 

Every fiber in Charon’s being yelled at him to run. To get out of that crowded place that had already so thoroughly overwhelmed him and away from the danger that smiled up at him so sweetly. 

He allowed himself to be dragged to the table. On reflex, he took off his hat and placed it on the table. 

Hermes took the booth seat, leaving Charon with his back to the crowd, the effect of it shutting the world off from Charon’s perception and making Hermes the sole focus. Just as it would have been had he been back at home, curled up around his phone. As he would that evening. 

Charon became distinctly aware of the singular horrifying fact. 

He jerked off to this man. 

Charon situated his jacket and hoped the way Hermes’ presence instantly drew out a _certain_ effect on Charon wasn’t apparent. 

“What’s your name?” Hermes signed as he spoke, assaulting Charon with a double language. His hands moved just as quick as his voice did. 

Charon spelled out his name slowly. 

“Charon,” Hermes said, just as carefully. “Am I pronouncing that right?” 

Charon nodded and took a sip of his coffee. It was still too hot and burned his tongue, but Charon swallowed the pain and his pride. Hermes drank his latte much more gingerly and did not look anywhere except at Charon. Normally, Hermes captivated Charon’s full attention. Having the full force of Hermes’ attention in return was devastating. 

“What do you do for a living, Charon?” Hermes asked. 

_accountant,_ Charon said. 

Hermes seemed almost amused at the answer, recognizing the mismatch between Charon’s dark, gothic, gold laden appearance to the profession typically associated with spreadsheets and pocket protectors. 

_what do you do?_ Charon asked without thinking. 

He already knew the answer. 

“I’m a clerical consultant,” Hermes said. He rolled his eyes. “It sounds really boring, but I actually enjoy it a lot. Visiting hospitals and corporations and realigning their systems to run more efficiently. Its like a puzzle and I like solving puzzles.” 

He paused to give Charon a quick once over and Charon was reminded of the lulls in his streams, where they would shift to something more sensual.

“I do a little technical writing on the side, too,” Hermes continued. “Taking on freelance jobs here and there, odds and ends. Little side gigs to make money. I’m kind of that type that needs to keep moving.” 

That was a surprise to Charon, but at the same time it made sense. Of course Hermes didn’t rely only on his streams for income, that they weren’t his main occupation and just a side thing. 

Although he might have been able to survive on Charon’s tips alone. 

“I was actually on my way to meet a client,” Hermes said fishing out his phone. “I should let them know I need to reschedule.” 

_i’m sorry,_ Charon said, moving to leave. 

“No no no, sit,” Hermes insisted, not looking up from his phone and waving Charon to sit back down. “We’re old friends, they’ll understand. Look I’ll even call them a bitch and it’ll be kosher.” 

Charon carefully put his butt back in the chair, not wanting to disobey. There was so much about this man that Charon didn’t know, a true enigma. He had thought Hermes bared his soul along with his flesh on those streams, giving Charon the false fantasy that they shared something intimate. 

It shattered with reality hitting him in the face like a wrecking ball. 

But Charon needed to know more. 

_where did you learn to sign?_ Charon asked before Hermes could get a word in edgewise. 

Hermes’ brows rose. He smiled into the lip of his latte before setting it back down to talk to Charon, even though he didn’t need to.

“I like learning new languages,” he said. “You could say I’m a collector. I’m pretty fluent in 13, getting better at my Russian. But theres a lot where you learn one, the others come pretty easily. And I’ve found it to be helpful in certain situations.” 

Hermes leaned on the back of his hand and simply looked at Charon. 

“Like now.”

Charon finally recognized the way Hermes looked at him. One that he’d seen many times before. Heavy lidded and sultry smile, dimmed down in the context of a public venue, but familiar all the same. 

Now, he was seducing. 

Charon took another scalding sip, his eyes darting to the exit, wanting nothing more than to take him and his erection home. 

“I’m keeping you,” Hermes said. 

Charon should have been falsely polite, shook his head and insisted that of course Hermes could never be a bother to Charon, but fear froze him in place. 

“Alright,” Hermes said, leaning back and laughing. “I release you from all social obligation, we’re even. Thank you for indulging me, Charon the accountant.” 

Shaking slightly, Charon rose to his feet. He clutched his coffee to his chest like a religious symbol that might protect him and managed one large step towards the door.

“Oh Charon,” Hermes said. 

Charon slowly turned back to look at Hermes over his shoulder. Hermes leaned into his hand again, smiling dreamily up at Charon. 

“Normally people ask for the name of who they’re talking to,” he said. 

Charon’s throat closed up. He knew. He had to know. He had to know why Charon didn’t ask. That Charon didn’t ask because he’d recognized his celebrity, that he knew Hermes from his internet presence. 

_That he knew Charon jerked off to him._

“Hermes, by the way,” Hermes said with a quick wink. 

It was painful to get Charon’s body to move again, but he nodded solemnly and continued his escape. He wondered in just how poor taste it would be to go home and _relieve_ himself to Hermes’ instagram. 

It wasn’t until he was in the safety of his dank apartment did Charon realize he left his hat at the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I too am disappointed with myself
> 
> [ please look at this picture _andpersandtv drew of incoming disaster ](https://twitter.com/_andpersandtv/status/1351000190979866627?s=19)
> 
> [and the follow up](https://twitter.com/_andpersandtv/status/1351333607508348928?s=20)
> 
> [And these boys from Sledge](https://twitter.com/sledgebeef/status/1352806103734759424?s=20)
> 
> [And this saucy bird from p_doodler](https://twitter.com/p_doodler/status/1352810015141277698?s=20)
> 
> Honestly did not expect this fic to capture the imagination so much @__@
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	2. Confusion and Delusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was just a hat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have so many feelings about this fic and the reaction its getting but okay thank y'all :'''') 
> 
> I have come to terms with the fact that is is crack. I don't know what I'm doing anymore. I just drop into a fugue state and out comes this nonsense. I love it so much and I am so ashamed of it at the same time. 
> 
> I did not breathe once while I wrote this chapter. 
> 
> I didn't edit it. 
> 
> Lemme know if you find any whoopsie doodles I guess :V 
> 
> ENJOY THIS WEIRD SHUT IN AND HIS MASTURBATION HABITS I GUESS

It was just a hat. 

A hat Charon had for years and had worn in just right and was an identifying staple for everyone who knew him. A hat that Charon couldn’t remember where he had got it from in the first place. 

He went back to Tartarus Grounds, but there was no dark wide brimmed hat with a gold coin trim in the lost and found. 

Charon scoured the internet, looking in the strangest places he could find, but he couldn’t find a replica. Even if he could, it wouldn’t be quite right. He had spent _years_ getting that hat to mold his head until it was like a second skin. 

Charon was bothered enough to lay awake in bed, even when he felt the exhaustion ready to take his body, and fret and worry about this extension of himself that had gone missing. 

But just a hat. 

It had been only a couple of days without it and Charon was still trying to ignore the stages of grief he was going through. He’d have to go out when Hypnos came around, but until then, Charon was choosing to stay inside. He couldn’t be seen without it. He looked so much smaller, less imposing. 

Not himself. 

Charon washed his hands for what felt like the second time in 15 minutes because he couldn’t remember the first. He pumped out some lotion, the bottle was running low, and rubbed it over his dry knuckles. He stared at himself in the mirror. 

Hair scraggly and limp framing a gaunt face. Chest bare and while strong not particularly the picturesque physique found in a magazine. Skin far too pale from lack of sunshine to the point where Charon was taking vitamin D supplements. 

He didn’t have much going for him, but that was never a problem. He didn’t _want_ to have much going for him. There was no need to go out there and attract someone to bring back home when he prized his solitude so highly. 

The memory of Hermes played out in his mind again, leaning on the back of his hands and grinning at Charon with fascination. Fully clothed, but not less seductive. The way he said Charon’s name, spelled it out so neatly. 

Like they were on a date. 

Charon shook his head in shame, trying to rid himself of the image. He pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes squeezed shut until it went away. 

It wasn’t going away. It hadn’t been going away. Fate had erroneously brought them together and it only sent the horrid little fantasies Charon had into overdrive. What had been simple and harmless suddenly had some weight. 

Charon peered one eye open to look at his reflection again. He told himself what a mismatch they would be, as if it were even a consideration. Shutting it down before he could let the daydreams spiral out of control. 

It was not a date. Hermes was not interested in him. He was a half naked strange online and that was it. 

Hermes deserved someone better. 

Charon went to wash his hands again, remembered that he already had by the speck of lotion still sitting on the back of his hand, and shut off the water. He left the bathroom and headed to his bedroom instead, rubbing the lotion into his skin. 

It was another Thursday night and Charon was sliding through the motions of his regular routine. Dressed down in a pair of comfortable sweatpants, cleaned but not showered, that was for after the stream. He propped up the pillows into his usual throne, his phone waiting on its charger, fully charged and ready to go. Waiting for Charon and waiting for the clock to turn 9. 

Charon climbed into bed and settled against the pillows until he was comfortable. He wriggled in place, slumping low, long legs spread out in front of him. Lights dimmed, the phone screen was the brightest source of illumination in his dreary room. It beeped a little tune as it was taken off the charger and Charon opened up the app. He stared down the familiar set of illustrated wings, letting the sense of normalcy wash over him. 

He rested his hand on his thigh. Despite everything, the routine had him half hard already. 

He smiled as the clock ticked over and the camera turned on. 

A smile filled Charon’s little screen, glowing like the sun. The familiarity of it soothed Charon’s racing mind and eased him into the relaxation against the pillows. Different from the threat that sat across from him at the coffee shop and more in line with the man Charon was used to. 

For that hour, just that hour, Charon let himself slip into the fantasy. 

“Hey there everyone,” Hermes said in that same sing-song tune. “I hope you’re having just the _finest_ of evenings. I know _I am._ Its so good for you to see me.” 

He stepped away from the camera to show off whatever tantalizing, inventive outfit he was going to use to seduce his captive audience that day. 

Hermes had a wide array of clothes to go through his closet. Sometimes he repeated outfits, but for the most part he always displayed something new. Uniforms that barely did anything to cover his skin, brightly colored affairs that were typically in shades of sunset. Charon particularly liked when he was in oversized sweats or button down shirts that were too large for him. Clothes that made him look comfortable. Clothes that made him look like he had stolen them from a significant other. 

Charon struggled to not slot himself into that role. In that blessed hour, he often failed. 

That evening, Hermes was dressed in something entirely different than his usual affair. 

A black sheer shirt with large puffy sleeves that tied off in bows at the wrists. A tight corset made of black leather and lace snatched in his waist. The top few buttons of the shirt were undone, tucked into the corset that traced just under his chest. Charon could make out the shape of pert nipples shaded under the transparent black material. An array of gold necklaces draped in tiers from the choker around his neck, over his collarbone, dipping down into the natural V his shirt made. Gold rings looped around his thumbs. The corset flared out at the bottom into a small ruffle just over sinfully tight pants that looked like they might have been painted on. He had a light touch of makeup on that accented his eyes nicely. 

Only Hermes could be completely covered and still look tantalizing. 

Charon’s hand curled into a fist and pulled on his pants.

“So news for the day,” he said, sitting back on the bed. He crossed one leg over the other and black lace up boots came briefly into frame. “You know me by now, right? We have an understanding about what I’m about by this point in time, right?” 

A voice from another time told Charon about clerical work and a million other things Charon didn’t know about the man. 

No. He knew Hermes. _This_ Hermes. This face he put on, the sultry character on the screen. 

“You know how I like to wander around, try new things out, check out new parts of the city, meet new people.” Hermes sighed and tilted his head back, gazing up at his ceiling. “Well the other day I did just that.” 

Charon listened anxiously for where Hermes went, what he did. What inspired the new look. 

“And I went to this just _quaint_ quiet part of town that I’ve never been to before and met this. . .” 

Hermes laughed to himself. Charon waited to hear about who he met. 

“Cryptid,” Hermes laughed. He looked off to the side, a faraway fondness in his eyes. His fingers towed with one of the longer necklaces and the charm that had been tucked into his corset peeked out. He bit his lower lip. “I don’t know what it was about him. He was so weird but there was just something. . .”

Hermes slipped into his usual, touching himself in all the right ways. One hand slid down the shiny slick material that was adhered to his thigh, the other tucked into his shirt, gold chain still entwined around his fingers. 

“I’ve got to tell you, my dear viewer, that he was an absolute fascination to look upon,” Hermes said, fingers sliding in further into his shirt, trailing over the swell of his chest. “I just had to steal a little bit of him for myself. Take a little inspiration from his essence. Ah!” 

Dexterous fingers found one of his nipples, already hard from brushing up against the corset. He pinched at it and arched his back from the sensation. Torturing and teasing himself. Teasing Charon. 

It was the right time for Charon to slide his hand into his pants. His cock was fully erect and interested in everything Hermes had to say about this monster he met on quiet streets. Charon held himself, gripping it tight, hoping to make this last at least half the session this time. 

“But you don’t want to hear about that I’m sure,” Hermes said. 

Wrong. Charon would hear about everything Hermes had to say. 

“Sometimes, when my mind is so preoccupied, I have such a hard time focusing, thinking up things to say,” Hermes said. “I know I shouldn’t be talking about other people to you guys. You’re here out of the goodness of your hearts.” 

He twisted his nipple and let out a small _’nnnf’_ , the bite in his lip deepening and his brows pinching together. He dropped his leg back to the ground and they spread of their own accord. Hermes’ obvious excitement evident from the bulge in those pants that hid nothing. 

“So how about we just get right into it hmm?” Hermes said, pulling his fingers from his shirt. 

Charon was a-okay with that. He stroked himself, finding a slow torturous rhythm. 

“I’ve got quite a lot to show you.” Hermes leaned across his bed just out of frame. “I know it looks pretty restrictive, but I want to show you what I can do when I’m restrained.” 

That boiled Charon’s blood, all of it rushing from his head to his dick. Hermes had tied himself before. Cuffed himself, tied himself to the bed, an amazing array of talents from the man. Charon was ready to see what he was planning for that particular evening. He stroked a little faster in anticipation, his fingers tightening around his phone, and waited eagerly to see what Hermes had planned. 

Charon froze. 

His hand came to a screeching halt. 

The slight smile on his face immediately disappeared, eyes going wide in a state of horror. 

His phone began to shake from the tremor in his hand. 

His hat. Hermes had his hat. Hermes had pulled his hat from just off frame and was placing it on his head. It was too big, but he tilted it in just the right way to hide one eye. The smoldering seduction radiating from off Charon’s screen and from under _his hat_. 

It all came crashing in on Charon all at once. 

Hermes was dressed up as Charon. He was dressed up in the Hermes version of Charon’s own personal style. 

_Charon_ was the cryptid. 

Hermes sighed, pressing down on the hat on his head. The coins gently clinked together. Hermes rolled his hips, his legs spreading wider. 

“You do not want to know how long it took me to get into this getup,” he said. 

The words garbled together, hitting Charon’s ears in nonsense syllables that meant nothing. His perfect mouth was moving but what came out might as well have been underwater whale calls. 

Hermes tilted the hat off his head, letting it run down his body, briefly covering up large portions of him. He could have completely hidden himself behind it and had his show be only that and still maintain his modesty. Had it always been that big? Was Hermes just that small? 

A soft smile quirked on Hermes’ lips, his chin tilting up with supremacy, looking down on his subjects. He slid the hat between his legs, spreading them wider to accommodate the brim. His hand disappeared behind his impromptu cover. 

“Want to see how long it takes me to get out?” he asked. 

The soft sound of a zipper unzipping slowly was clear as a bell in the quiet of Hermes’ room and it echoed through Charon’s ears. His eyes widened and the grip around his dick involuntarily tightened. 

Hermes breathed in deep, his shoulders swelling as he found something _delightful_ behind the protection of Charon’s hat. His shoulder worked, an indicator that he was digging something out of his pants and Charon had a guess as to _what it was._

Once he had achieved his goal, Hermes sighed with a content little mewl. His arm moved like an oar, rowing back and forth as his hand moved underneath the hat. Charon could see his knuckles bumping the crown from the otherside. He whimpered and bit his lip, his hips scooching forward, so as to make contact with the _fabric of the hat._

Charon wasn’t breathing. If he passed out he wasn’t sure if it would be from the lack of oxygen or from shock. 

“Oh,” Hermes whimpered. “Oh fuck.” 

His hand came out from behind the hat and he clutched the crown with both hands. He closed his eyes, his body tensing, and he rolled his hips up into the space where Charon’s head normally sat, rubbing against it, searching for release into _Charon’s hat._ The coins clinked together with each thrust, creating a song that would repeat in Charon’s worst nightmares. 

A content little smile grew over Hermes’ lips and Charon swore there was a name on them. 

“Fuck,” he sighed instead. 

Charon sat frozen in his rigor mortis as he watched the rest of the show. Hermes didn’t speak of _the cryptid_ for the rest of the stream, instead going on about his fantasies and his likes and all the things he would do. It might as well have been mush, every word lost on Charon’s newly deaf ears. Hermes did indeed pull out the cuffs and tied them behind his back. He kept the hat precariously covered over his dignity, eyes into the camera as he lifted his hips up into it. At one point he bit the brim. 

Defling it. 

Charon couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe. His limbs began to ache from staying in one position for so long. He only rode out the rest of the show, afraid that if he moved, the lion would pounce and he would be devoured and it would be over. 

Maybe then he’d know peace. 

The stream ended as it always did. Hermes got out of his cuffs and carefully zipped himself back up. He put the hat back on his head, like it belonged there, and leaned into the camera. 

“Thank you so much for spending your evening with me,” he said. “I had an _excellent_ time and I hope you did too. Remember, take care of yourselves because I care about you lots. Bye.” 

He waved into the camera and the screen flitted back to the ending card. 

Charon sat with the phone in his hands still staring blankly at his screen. He lost his grip and it fell down into his lap, bouncing away onto the bed. He finally managed to breathe, puffing out a long breath like it was his soul escaping his body. 

Charon sat on his bed, clutching the most confused boner he’d ever had in his life. 

____

There were no thoughts. 

“And he said he wouldn’t share any of his chinese food, but I went all the way out to the west end, the least he could have done was spare me something to nosh on, right?” 

Hypnos had been talking, but Charon hadn’t heard a word. He tried to take a sip of his coffee, the lip of it missing his mouth and bumping against his chin.

“But I suppose it all worked out in the end,” Hypnos said. “His girlfriend took pity on me and gave me a banana. Win win!” 

Charon let his cup nestle back in his lap as if he had taken that sip. 

He looked out over Tartarus Grounds with a thousand yard stare. The college kids and coworkers on their break and those working on the ‘next great novel’ all blurred into the background, unable to replace the single vision Charon had etched into his eyes all week. 

Hermes. On his back. Maintaining eye contact. Humping up into Charon’s hat. 

Charon couldn’t bring himself to dress in his normal outfits when he left the house that morning. Between the perversion that was Hermes’ alluring figure in what was his style and the fact that Charon _didn’t have his hat_ , which normally made most of his outfits, he just couldn’t do it. He sat in that coffee shop in sweats and boots, wearing his rings and necklaces. He hadn’t shaved. It was a miracle that he showered at all, thank Hypnos for guiding him to the bathroom. 

Charon was a mess of a man. 

He sighed and tried to take another drink. This time he got some coffee. 

“I have another appointment coming up soon,” Hypnos kept going. “I think actually maybe.. . .” 

He looked at his watch which was out of sync with the rest of the world. His brows rose. 

“An hour ago. . . oh well.” Hypnos pleasantly slumped lower on the couch, his bare feet resting on the table, crossed at the ankle. He hummed to himself and swung them back and forth. The notes to the tune he made up making no sense in an atonal avant garde fashion. “I suppose they’re mad.” 

Charon sighed and looked out at nothing. He could just barely hear Hermes whimpering his name as he fumbled under his hat. Their hat, by that point. Hermes had laid claim to it. The lack of sleep playing tricks on his mind, blending the Hermes who knew his name and the incubus that lived in Charon’s phone. 

Charon closed his eyes, trying to wipe away the memory of the last week. There was no amount of bleach that Charon could pour into his eyes that would rid him of Hermes’ face. 

He didn’t want to ever be rid of it. 

Charon opened his eyes again and slumped down to Hypnos’ level. The cup was still perched at his lips and coffee had been spilling off the sides. A few droplets stained his sweater, not that it was faring all that well to begin with. 

The bell at the door sang as it opened enthusiastically and a cool breeze from the outside world felt like relief on Charon’s skin. Out of reaction, Charon’s eyes darted to the noise. 

His heart had a really bad habit of stopping short. 

Hermes briskly walked into the coffee shop, all but skipping to the counter, brilliant scarf trailing behind him. The barista on the other side seemed to recognize him and a conversation that couldn’t be heard over the smooth jazz struck up between them. Like Hermes had been coming there regularly. 

So this was a thing now. 

The barista went to go fetch Hermes’ drink and Hermes waited patiently at the counter. He held onto the edge, tapping out a tune with his fingers, and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He looked around the coffee shop with mild interest, wearing that perfect smile on his face. 

Until finally his eyes caught sight of Charon. 

He broke out into a grin that was like the sun and waved enthusiastically. 

“Hey have you heard from Than?” Hypnos asked, picking his nails. 

Charon scruffed his brother by the shirt and all but dragged him off the couch. He marched to the door. 

“Hey my shoes!” Hypnos complained, but Charon had to get out of there. 

His flight instinct pounded in his head until it ached. He moved in long brisk strides, taking advantage of his height to go faster. He spared a single glance over his shoulder to see that the smile had dropped from Hermes’ face, replaced with one of confusion. A hurt look that Charon had never seen before. 

He pushed away from the counter and followed. 

Charon kept pushing forward, disregarding their usual crosswalk and marching out into the street, thankful for the red light that kept traffic at bay. 

The bell at the front door worked over time from Charon’s immediate egress and someone stopping the door from fully closing. 

“Charon!” 

Hermes’ voice called out like a bell. Charon squeezed his eyes shut and pushed his head down, moving forward like a cannonball. If he walked fast enough, he might be able to outrun his shame. 

“I know you can hear me Charon!” There was a laugh under Hermes’ voice and Charon’s mind skewed it to mocking. 

“Hey I think that guy is calling out for you,” Hypnos said, his bare feet slapping across the asphalt. 

Charon didn’t care. He managed to round the corner, going in the opposite direction of either apartments, but to the nearest hiding place. 

Hypnos managed to weasel out of Charon’s grip. His little brother had the miraculous ability to go boneless and have the consistency of pudding in a sack when he wanted to. 

“I’m going to go see what he wants,” Hypnos said cheerfully. 

Charon tried to grab for his brother, but it was too late. Hypnos was already walking through traffic, the light having since switched to green. Cars honked at him as he moved forward with disregard. He waved at Hermes and Charon’s object of affection turned that magnetism on his brother. 

Charon held onto the corner, watching with terror as the worst possible situation unfolded. 

The two agents of absolute chaos conversed with one another, both of them talking with their hands in their own unique style. Hermes with his usual animation and abandon, each punctuation like fireworks. Hypnos with long languid movements, his hands flopping over when he forgot they were raised. 

He looked back over his shoulder and pointed across the street. Hermes immediately looked at Charon, their eyes meeting. 

Charon sucked in a breath and hid around the corner, back hitting the brick wall. He squeezed his eyes shut again and tried to regain a normal breathing pattern before he took another peek. 

Hermes was leaning to the side, as if attempting to look in Charon’s hiding place. At Charon’s attention again, he danced his fingers in the air, that amused smile having returned to his face. 

Charon slunk back into the shadow of the building and rested his back against the wall. He slumped down against it, pushing for tension to keep him up. If he dropped to the sidewalk he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get back up again. 

Charon tried to reason with himself, tried to dredge up the recesses of his logical mind. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe Hypnos wouldn’t be awful that day and wouldn’t say the worst possible thing. Maybe Hermes would find him funny. 

Charon was pretty sure he knew the size of his brother’s pupils that day and knew he was fooling himself. 

The next time he looked out, Hermes was gone and Hypnos was making his way back across the street. He hopped on one foot, slipping his shoe on as he did. 

“Hey there,” he said, as if seeing Charon for the first time that day. “And how are you doing?” 

Charon gave his little brother a flat glare. He shook as he pushed off of the brick wall and rose to his full height, towering over Hypnos. He had never been cross with his brother before, but there was a first time for everything. 

Although he wasn’t sure he could conjure that level of ire at Hypnos, not even at that point. 

Hypnos stared up at Charon with a wide blank smile before he jumped in place and dug through his pocket. 

“Oh yeah,” he said. “He said to give you this.” 

Hypnos pulled out a ball of lint stuck between a paper clip. 

“Oh wait no, this!” 

The second thing he fished out of his pocket was a ripped off piece of paper. White lined in blue, ragged on one edge, and neatly folded over. Charon took it from Hypnos and unfolded it. 

A series of numbers were scrawled across the paper. Ten of them. Interstitially spaced with dashes. 

A phone number. 

A million questions overloaded Charon’s mind until there was nothing but a dull hum. Was it Hermes’ number? Why would Hermes give him his number? Did he want to return Charon’s hat? Is that why he was so insistent to talk to Charon? 

Did Charon even want his hat back? 

Hypnos snagged Charon’s sweater by the elbow, plucking it between his index and thumb, keeping his pinky up. He marched down the street, continuing in the wrong direction. 

“Come on,” he said. “Lets get you home.” 

____

Charon paced in his bedroom, lit cigarette gripped too hard between his fingers. He walked from one side to his closed off curtains back to the other where his closet door was almost off its hinges. At one point he had crawled inside and sat there for about an hour in an effort to hide. From what, he wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure he had been found. 

He made a turn to his office, to hunker back down at his computer, but he had flown through most of his work that day. Any other work he could think to do would have a sizable dip in quality and he had child locked himself out of his computer. He snarled and turned back to his bedroom, punching his fist in the air in frustration. He turned to take a drag from his cigarette to take the edge off.

It was 9:36 on a Thursday night. He had missed Hermes’ last show for the first time since he’d found the fiend. He had let his phone die and spent the torturous hour staring up at his ceiling. 

He hadn’t jerked off in more than a week and the disruption to his routine was wreaking havoc on his system. A taut tension had cramped his spine, a constant headache pounded against his temples, his palms had perpetual half moons from where his nails dug in. 

The merest thought of Hermes, any version of Hermes, brought a physical frustration between his legs. Sitting at his computer, trying to finish work, the thought of Hermes moaning as he felt himself up left Charon with his head on his desk. Standing in the shower, he would recall Hermes waving at him from across the street and suddenly the water would need to be ice and Charon would have to lie on the tub floor. Even within the recesses of his closet floor, the beast still found him. 

In the quiet of the night, or day, Charon couldn’t tell, he pulled up instagram. He scrolled through Hermes’ page, not just the recent pics of him in his skates or of his legs or an above shot that showed off his chest so sweetly, but older photos. Back from when he hadn’t quite found his niche yet. All of it sparking Charon’s imagination of what it would be like to slot right alongside him. 

And when Charon was feeling particularly guilty, he’d open the streaming app and he’d pay Hermes his normal fare. 

He had done that every night, or day, that week. Sometimes twice. 

The piece of paper with Hermes’ number lay crumpled up in a ball on Charon’s floor. He had stared at it, balled it in his fist, smoothed it out, typed it in his phone, balled it up again and thrown it across the room. It had lived at the foot of his dresser for two days now. 

Charon glared at it, still not trusting it. He kicked it and it rolled underneath his dresser, into the shadows that couldn’t be reached with a vacuum. 

He turned his glare to the clock. 

9:37 

Charon had let his phone die again in an effort to keep him away, but standing there, staring at his clock, cock raging from being ignored for a week, Charon snapped. He vibrated from the strain to physically hold himself back. His neck cracked. The cigarette between his lips burned. He gave in. 

Charon all but dove across his bed for the phone and fumbled to plug it in, attempting to extinguish his cigarette at the same time. It sang to him as it turned on, the corporate logo looking far too colorful for Charon’s tastes and he snarled at it like a feral animal. 

By the time Charon got the app up and running and on Hermes’ channel, the stream was almost over. 

Instant relief found Charon at the sight of his object of worship. 

Hermes was pared down. At least for him. It looked like he might have removed some clothes by that point, but he had significantly less flare than usual. Gold draped over him in body chains, choked around his neck and over his shoulders in delicate strands. A single strand ran down the center of his body, branching out to hug the curve of his hip. The chains disappeared into pants that were too low on his body to be respectable, showing off curves that were saved for just his adoring audience. The pants were designed for lounging, a drop crotch for space and cuffed at the ankles, a dark blue color that didn’t suit Hermes. His hair was mussed and out of place. 

All in all, it looked like he hadn’t put much effort into his presentation. Simply threw on what was most convenient three seconds before the stream. 

It wouldn’t have been the first time, but there was something off about that session. Something duller. 

Charon immediately propped himself up, foregoing his normal set up, and shoved his hand so hard into his sweats that the drawstring got swallowed up inside its confines. Charon’s gasp shook in desperation as he grabbed hold of his dick for the first time in a week. 

Hermes was on his knees and ran a hand down his body, the gold chains jingling and dancing and catching the light in a fetching way. He hummed, biting his lip, but there was no heart in it. It was an obvious act, motions that he was going through. 

He gave up with a sigh and let his hand flop useless at his side. 

Charon whined, thinking that this would be a quick sweet release, but Hermes’ distress was making it impossible to get off. A sudden worry for Hermes overtook any wanton lust that had been plaguing him. 

“You know what,” Hermes muttered. “I just. . . would it be okay if I did something different tonight?” 

Charon nodded frantically. Anything, anything he wanted. He could have it. He could do it. 

Hermes sighed and crawled down onto all fours. He turned, in a modicum of effort to show off his body, to maintain his duty to his audience. 

“I don’t normally do this,” he spoke into the sheets. “It feels too intimate for what we do here. But I just can’t tonight.” 

He reached his hand down his body, sliding it into his pants, disappearing into the soft cloth. Hermes’ chin rested on the bed and he sighed, eyes closed in bliss as he found his own dick. 

“I just need to,” he sighed. “Get. . . ah. . .” 

Hermes began working his arm back and forth, stroking himself in earnest. Charon matched his tempo, staring wide eyed at his little screen, not wanting to miss a single detail. 

“I need,” Hermes gasped. 

The way his arm moved, the way he panted open mouthed, the way his eyes rolled back and closed. This wasn’t an act. It wasn’t for an audience, it was for himself. It was genuine. It was real. 

Hermes was actually getting off. 

Charon’s legs tensed, scrambling as he drove his heels into the bed. He clutched the phone tighter. He jerked himself without finesse in an effort to simply _come_ , but for once it seemed his dick wanted to take its time. 

“Please,” Hermes whispered, high pitched and desperate. He turned his head, eyes still closed and mouth open. “Please please please.” 

His body arched pleasantly and the pants slid further down his hips. Charon gasped at the bend in his back, at the curve of his ass, how the shape of it just barely poked out. Hermes’ hand shook as he reached just off screen, groping for something to hold. 

“Please,” he sobbed, the muscles in his arm working overtime as his hand danced in his pants. “I need you.” 

Charon choked on his own spit, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t blink. He couldn’t look away. 

Hermes pressed his head to the sheets, back hunched and bucking into his hand like an animal. It was all too easy to picture someone behind him, hands digging into his hips, fucking into him. 

It was all too easy to picture Charon. 

“I want you.” 

Hermes eyes opened, dazed and unfocused, looking not at the camera but just off to the side. Charon could feel him, could feel his heat next to him. He knew how soft Hermes smelled, the very real pores in his perfect skin. He knew his laugh, his real laugh, and how his eyes sparkled when he smiled. When he knew something that Charon didn’t. 

It was no longer a feeling, no longer a sensation. 

Charon _was in that room_ with Hermes. 

He was there. They were staring each other down as they found completion watching one another. Hermes begged for him just as much as Charon begged for Hermes. 

“Please,” he whined again, his body convulsing with the sob. 

Hermes’ eyes bulged and his body bucked in a way that was so achingly familiar to Charon, despite having never seen it on the man before. A genuine shock that this was coming to an end all too soon. 

“Ah!” he gasped, facing forward again, desperately gripping the thing off screen. His hand pumped double time as both he and Charon teetered the edge. His back arched again in desperation and his toes curled. “Ah! Aaah–”

The feed cut out. 

Charon came, cum spurting against the inside lining of his sweats and creating a sloppy mess over his hand, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. His head jerked back from the force of it and hit his headboard hard. Between the impact and the orgasm, Charon saw stars. 

Hand sticky, pants ruined, and a small puddle of cum clinging to everywhere between his abdomen and his thighs, Charon came too. Slowly he opened his eyes and saw his reality. 

He was in his room. His own room. Alone. 

The phone in his hand showed the end placard, signalling that the stream was over, despite the lack of Hermes’ usual send off. The connection between him and Hermes was cut off. 

Because there was no connection. There wasn’t something between them. Hermes was a minor celebrity doing sex work on the internet and Charon was the idiot who followed him religiously.

Thats all. Nothing more.

Charon let his phone drop to the bed and rose to his feet. He wiped his soiled hand on his pants, it wasn’t like they could get any dirtier. He crouched down by his dresser and fished out the ball of crumpled up paper. Once again, he smoothed it out to look at the numbers he had seen so many times before. 

Whatever it was that Hermes wanted from him, it wasn’t what Charon fantasized. It wasn't the sexual daydreams or even just to talk. They didn’t go on a date. 

And he hadn’t been masturbating to the thought of Charon.

Charon crumpled up the ball one more time and this time put it in the trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LOVE THIS TRASH CAN MAN SO GOD DAMNED MUCH WHAT A FUCKIN THIRSTY SIMP HES SO FUCKIN STUPID I LOVE HIM SO MUCH
> 
> IDIOT
> 
> I said Simp out loud 5 TIMES while writing this. 
> 
> Also Hypnos is my favorite natural disaster. 
> 
> I'm just so overwhelmed right now. . . I need to have a lie me down
> 
> [MORE EXCELLENT ARTWORK FROM _andpersandtv LOOK AT HIM](https://twitter.com/_andpersandtv/status/1354699345006714885?s=20)
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


	3. A Public Service Announcement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With nothing left, no defenses, Charon picked up his phone. 
> 
> He opened Instagram. 
> 
> Just a peek wouldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . . GOD THIS MAN IS SO FUCKING STUPID HE'S JUST AOSIDFOUISDJ I AM SO MAD AT CHARON FUCK 
> 
> THIS FUCKING IDIOT HES SO YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW MUCH I YELLED AT THIS SIMP AND I'M WRITING THE DAMN THING

Blue light strained against Charon's eyes even through his computer glasses. Vector graphs of the prediction of the stock market were beginning to blur together. All his insider information had turned into mush. Shell companies from one client were confused with another with a too similar name. 

Charon’s work was getting sloppy. 

He rubbed the bridge of his nose, pushing up his glasses. 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise. He had long since passed the 24 hour mark of being awake and it was beginning to take a toll on not just his body, but his mind. He could feel the stiffness in his joints, the sag on his eyes, the fuzz in his brain. Sounds that weren’t there echoed in his ears. A creak in his apartment, thumps that may or may not have come from the neighbors next door, laughter in his ear. . . 

Charon sighed, deflating against his chair and letting the glasses fall back down. He slid low in his seat, his neck craning as it was pushed at awkward angles. A heavy sigh seeped from his lips, coming out in a puff of cigarette smoke, like his soul left his body. 

For not the first time that night, his eyes slid to his phone. 

He had been successfully ignoring it for days. Putting it directly in the garbage would have been the ideal plan, but he still needed it for work. He could have just deleted all the social media, lost the streaming website, moved on with his life, but Charon couldn’t bring himself to do so. He couldn’t bring himself to sever the tentative tether between them. Between him and an internet celebrity. Someone who shouldn’t have noticed someone like Charon in the first place. 

Charon let the blue blocker glasses drop back into place, the pads slipping back into the grooves that they dug into his nose. He leaned forward again and couldn’t read the numbers. Through the bend in his curtain he could see the night outside. The world had gone to sleep save for a lone car that slid down the curve his apartment lived on. The last time he looked out the window it had been sunshine and day, but Charon couldn’t be sure which one. 

He kept busy. He had to keep busy. If he stopped working then his mind would drift. To a sweet smile and a stocky built body. To quiet secrets and wandering hands. 

Charon thumped his fist against his desk, making pens dance in their cup. He huffed angrily out of his nose, more upset with himself than anything else. 

Ever since that last stream, or at least the last one Charon had seen, it had been far too easy to slot Hermes into his fantasies. Scenarios and daydreams slid through Charon’s mind, possibilities that were so far out of reach that it hurt to entertain. 

It didn’t stop at sexual encounters either. Ideas of long coffee dates meant he had to feign sickness when Hypnos came around to take him back to Tartarus. Imagining sitting on the couch sharing chinese food meant Charon had to eat his dinner quickly. Dressed down in one of Charon’s shirts urged Charon to shove unfolded laundry out of sight. Remarking on what a beautiful day it was outside brought Charon to cover up his windows even more. He was two seconds from taping cardboard over them. 

Laying in bed only swirled and stirred the machinations of his mind all the more. Settling down for sleep, letting his mind wander and drift, always brought him back to Hermes. What it would feel like to have him kiss his cheek, kiss his lip, lay down next to him. How he sounded when he said Charon’s name. The way he smiled sitting across from Charon. Stealing and wearing Charon’s hat, not in any form of seduction, but rather out of playfulness. A way of flirting that would become so familiar between the two of them. 

Charon worked himself until he could no longer think. Or at least, he was trying to. 

Charon no longer had the capability to look at numbers anymore and he wouldn’t trust himself to have the same level of scrutiny and quality he typically had in his work. 

He should go to bed. 

Charon glared at his phone again. Face down on his desk, charger dangling off the side like a waterfall. A black phone case with gold filigree detailing. 

It mocked him. 

The last of his cigarette dangled from his lips. He had lost count of how many he had gone through that day, but he knew it was more than a pack. His ashtray had overflowed, some butts flopped over onto his desk among the take out boxes and spilled pens. 

He was a mess. He’d always been a mess, he knew that, but Hermes had wriggled his way into Charon’s life like a cancer and had grown until he rampaged through his whole body. Spreading through his lymph nodes when he hadn’t been looking. 

With nothing left, no defenses, Charon picked up his phone. 

He opened Instagram. 

Just a peek wouldn’t hurt. 

Charon didn’t bother with a scroll and went straight through his follows until he found Hermes’ account, primed at the top. The app knew Charon’s favorite go tos. Go to. Just one. 

It had been sometime since Charon had last looked at Hermes’ profile and he had a few posts to catch up on. Sly hints at streams that Charon had missed out on, pictures of his day, a smiling picture that had been taken from a high angle. There was a shot of him skating backwards in his new roller skates and jeans that had a precariously high rip just under his ass, showing off the line of a cheek. Another one of him obviously sitting at Tartarus Grounds, sipping from a mug, captioned _new favorite place._

One of him wearing Charon’s hat. Winking, tongue out. 

It preyed on Charon’s mind. 

The latest was far less sensual. He stood, relaxed, dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt, feet bare. His legs were crossed, his toes pressed hard on the ground. He had looped one thumb in his jeans, pulling them just down that they could almost be suggestive, but his body language was far more relaxed, subdued. 

He looked just off camera, his eyes heavy and distant. A small smile on his face was touched with just a hint of pondering melancholy. 

He looked wistful. 

Charon wanted to ask him what was wrong, what he needed, what he wanted. Had Hermes been there, he would have done just that. He would have slipped his arms around Hermes’ waist and pulled him close, comforted him. 

What last dregs of Charon’s resistance slipped down, crumbling into nothing. Leaving him bare and vulnerable to whatever attacks his brain inflicted upon him. 

Charon scrolled through the feed, flitting over past memories that Charon had already invested many hours into. Favorites of his, familiar well worn roads to tread upon and soothe his aching heart. 

The one with leaves wrapped around his head in an array of golds and oranges. When he got his third piercing on either side. A particularly saucy picture of him just in briefs, the brand name in big bold letters around the band, strong powerful legs flexed for maximum flaunt. 

Charon traced the lines of muscle and wondered how they would taste, how thick thighs would feel squeezed around his face. 

He slid his hand over his lower stomach. 

The next picture was far too suggestive to be up on such a tame website and Charon wondered why it hadn’t been taken down yet. 

Hermes, just his face, eyes heavy, mouth open, tongue on display. A small red heart shaped candy sat in the middle of it. The caption read _Happy Valentine’s Day._

Charon slid his hand over the front of his pants and whimpered. 

He could taste the unsavory burn of filter and decided that he was doing something different now. Days of ignoring it and putting it off finally caught up to him. The lack of sleep finally plagued upon him. His tired aching body was weak save for the one very alert organ between his legs. 

He put out his cigarette, spread his legs, and shoved his hand down his pants. 

Charon scrolled through picture after picture, knowing the order like a well played song. His hand worked lazy over his dick, an idle motion that he wasn’t totally aware of. He paused on images that sparked the imagination, that took him down avenues of utter filth. More suggestive, more sexualized. 

Revealing outfits. Fingers hooked into his mouth. Shots where his eyes were cut off, where he bit his lip and splayed his fingers strategically to pull the fabric of tiny shorts taut. 

Pictures that were of this internet celebrity, of a sex worker designed to titulate, and Charon let them do their job. 

It was only as he went on did Charon’s scroll slow down. He began to pause on more innocuous, less sultry photos. Innocent little things. Hermes at the top of a hike, arms and legs spread out in a star, great smile on his face as the landscape stretched out in the distance. A simple image post hair cut of Hermes, eyes closed, hands running through his hair as he mussed up the stylist’s work. 

One of Hermes, leaning on the back of his hands, smiling. Just smiling. Head tilted, eyes twinkling, in the back of Tartarus Grounds, enraptured in whatever it was that Charon would tell him next. 

What if he had reached out his hand? What if he had held Charon’s? What if he had said how much he thought of Charon, how happy he was to see him, how he wanted to see him again? 

Charon’s eyes slid shut and his hand fisted tighter around his dick, moving quick of its own accord. Reality slipped away as sleep laid heavy on Charon. He slid further in his chair, his legs spread wider, his hand moved faster. 

What if Hermes were there? What would he touch? Would he rest his hands on Charon’s chest, lean into him, just shy of pressing against his mouth? 

His hands would slide down Charon’s chest, fingers silken smooth and clever as they traced the outlines of his stomach. Exploratory and curious, pressing and probing in all the right ways that Charon wanted. He would ghost his breath over Charon’s skin and Charon jolted at the idea of it. 

Hermes between his legs, on his knees, staring up at Charon the same way Charon stared at him. No, better. Like he adored him. Like he loved him. 

The idea of Hermes leaning in close, to lick the tip of Charon’s dick, the mere insinuation that he might want to take Charon in his mouth sent Charon ablaze. 

The options were endless. Hermes on his back, Hermes bent over, Hermes pressed in so close that his face blurred, that his eyes were all Charon saw, that his panting breath was all that Charon could taste. 

He could say anything and Charon would do it. Charon would give it to him. If he wanted, he could take Charon. Press Charon down and mold him to his will. Charon would get on his knees, he would allow himself to be bound. For Hermes, he would do it. 

If Hermes wanted, he could be in Charon’s home, in his bedroom, in his kitchen. In his sanctity where no one else could go. Charon could slip behind him and wrap his arms around Hermes’ small frame. He could press kisses into Hermes’ neck as they swayed together. Hermes would turn in his arms, look up at him with sparkling eyes. His hands would be so very gentle as they cupped Charon’s face. As he planted a sweet and soft kiss to Charon’s lips. 

Charon’s cry was choked and half cut off, a voice that crackled from lack of use. High pitched like a kicked dog. He bucked in his seat, rolling the chair away from the desk and almost out from under him. A seething whine escaped between his teeth, his aching dick finally finding some relief. 

A pounding on the wall shook what few pictures he had tacked up there. The frames clattered as his neighbor angrily communicated that they could hear Charon jerking off. 

Charon opened his eyes again, pulling out of the dream that he had slipped into. His hand, soiled and sticky, crawled out from under the band of his pants. He looked down at it, where cum had pooled between his fingers, and frowned in disappointment. 

He didn’t know what was worse, the sexual fantasies or the domestic ones. 

Imagining a relationship with Hermes was pathetic. 

Charon’s phone was still clutched in his hand. A picture, three years old, illuminated his screen. Before Hermes had really leaned into his oversexed persona. Sitting on a half wall, dressed in an oversized button down that went over his fingers, gripping the brickwork between his legs, and smiling at something just off screen. 

And Charon had liked it. 

Sudden shame and embarrassment coursed through Charon and the icy cold of it woke him back to full alertness. He dropped his phone and it clattered on the ground, the case preventing damage and Hermes smiling up at him. He stared down at the picture and the little red heart he had tapped in his lust driven reverie. 

The stupidity of it all followed shortly after. Charon groaned and pinched his eyes again. It didn’t matter if he liked a three year old image at 2 in the morning. The picture had plenty of likes, Charon was just another drop in an ocean of drops. He wasn’t special, Hermes wouldn’t see him and know. 

Charon slowly opened his eyes. His computer had gone to sleep and he sat alone in the darkness of his apartment. 

What he needed, more than anything, was to move on. 

Charon resolved himself to packing away his pathetic little crush and hiding it not just from the world but from himself. He would block the streaming site and go back to his existence of a near sexless life. He could focus on his work again and not drop into moments of desperate loneliness. 

He just needed to be done with it. 

He needed his hat back. 

Plan formulated, Charon picked up his phone and uninstalled Instagram. 

____

Charon had been sitting at Tartarus Grounds for hours. He had arrived shortly after opening, ordered a coffee, and found a quiet corner where he could see the entirety of the shop. He sat there and watched, unmoving and ever observing. He watched as the first wave of commuters came in and the lull of midmorning settled in. He watched as the retired and out of work found their respective long held spots. He watched the baristas behind the counter suffer then relax. He worked his way through 3 cups of coffee and waited and watched. 

He waited for Hermes. 

Charon knew what he was doing could be misconstrued as stalking. 

Going to a place where he knew someone frequented with the knowledge that he might be able to bump into them sounded a lot like stalking. 

What Charon was doing was distinctly _not stalking_. He was recovering stolen property. Completely different. 

At least that was what he told himself. 

His coffee had gone cold but he sipped from it anyways. His ass had gone numb from sitting for so long on a wooden bench. A new customer came in, the bells in the door jingling as they did and Charon perked up. 

It wasn’t Hermes. 

Charon sighed and slid back down into the bench. Maybe he had been presumptive. Seeing Hermes twice at the coffee shop and just because he posted a picture of his _’new favorite place’_ didn’t mean it was a daily occurrence. 

Charon had woken up so sure, but he was running off of very little sleep. The clock was rounding the corner of noon and Hermes had yet to show. 

Charon took a deep breath and resolved that he would just come back tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. However long it took to get his hat back. Because thats all he was doing, demanding the safe return of his hat. Nothing else. 

He certainly was _not_ stalking. 

Charon’s fingers itched and the familiar ache for a cigarette toyed with the back of a dehydrated tongue. He groaned as he rose to his feet and was halfway to the door when his table was already taken. He could alway intimidate back into his possession. It had the best view of the entire shop and he needed it. 

Charon stepped out into the cool of the outside world, the crisp chilled wind nipped at his nose. The sound of rustling leaves played in the breeze. He leaned against a half full bike rack and cupped his lighter as he lit his cigarette. The typical relief he got from that first drag simply wasn’t there, his mind far too occupied to be soothed. He sighed, smoke curling from his nose, and flicked the ashes from the first burn. 

Charon idly looked up the street to the array of shops and restaurants that lined it. The hairdressers next to the taqueria next to the artisanal jewelry boutique. The shuffle of foot traffic barely registering in Charon’s mind, people moving like shades in a dream. 

Charon really needed some sleep. 

After he got his hat back, he would rest. 

Charon scanned the street, just for something to do, and looked down the other way.

Hermes stood stock still in the middle of the sidewalk, gripping the strap of his bag with one hand, his mouth slightly ajar. 

The grip on Charon’s cigarette was tight enough to pinch the paper and tobacco was squeezed out the ends like a tube of toothpaste. 

Hermes had a beautiful way of settling into himself. The taut tension he carried, even in streams when he was toying himself into a well acted out over stimulation, would fade into the glorious bloom of a smile. That afternoon, his smile was warm, his eyes going soft, his body gently relaxing like a sigh. 

“Charon,” he said and Charon’s heart wept at the way Hermes said his name. “You’re here.” 

With nervous energy, Charon put out his cigarette on the bike rack bar and flicked it to the sidewalk. He ignored the way his heart hammered and closed the gap between them, pretending to be the curt business like person he ought to. This was a simple transaction, thats all. Hermes’ chin raised to maintain eye contact as Charon drew near. 

“Its good to see you,” Hermes said. 

Charon froze stock still. No. He wouldn’t be swayed. 

His hands raised and his fingers twitched, but he suddenly realized he had no words. He didn’t know what to say. 

For all his careful consideration, he didn’t know how to enact his plan to simply _ask for his hat back._

Hermes looked at Charon’s hands, held up to speak and twitching with nothing to say. The small smile on his face the picture of patience. He waited, smiling up at Charon, then took the impetus to continue their stalled conversation. 

“I met your brother,” Hermes offered. “He seems nice.” 

Charon was screaming in his head. Ask for the hat back, ask for the hat back. _Ask. For. His. Hat._

“Did he. . .” Hermes licked his lips, clearly nervous about something. He looked aside quickly before sucking in a sharp breath. “Did he give you my number?” 

Charon recoiled. He hadn’t been expecting a conversation, let alone being questioned. He found it within himself to nod. 

“Oh,” Hermes said. His smile dimmed, gently, softly fading. His eyes darted, looking down and away from Charon. “I see.” 

It didn’t become Hermes to be cowed like that. To have his head bowed, staring at his shoes. He was always filled with such confidence, above it all, and this foreign creature in front of Charon tugged on his heart all the greater. He had to physically restrain himself from reaching out. 

Hermes breathed in deep, smile still slight and sad, and he squared off his shoulders. 

“Well then,” he said. “Thats that I suppose.” 

His eyes didn’t meet Charon as he went to head inside the coffeeshop, taking steps to brush past him. But Charon couldn’t let it end there. 

He was on a mission. 

He planted a firm hand to Hermes’ shoulder and pushed him back into place. Hermes rocked back a step, not thrown off balance in the slightest, and glared up at Charon. Somewhere between a frown and a pout. Charon yanked his hand back as if it were scalding, having once again touched the object of his very physical affections. 

He finally found direction. 

_give me my hat back_

Hermes’ brow furrowed. A slight blush touched his cheeks and Charon couldn’t tell if it was from anger or shame. He had the audacity to look confused. 

“Who says I have your hat?” he asked. 

Charon huffed out exhaustion and frustration. 

_i know you have it_

“You know I. . .” Hermes’ brow furrowed. That beautiful shift where the tension ebbed away once more cascaded over Hermes. His face softened, his eyes widened, his smile slowly grew. “You know I have your hat. . .” 

An odd sort of manic smile spread across Hermes’ face. His eyes expanded until Charon could see the white all the way around his iris. He looked like a firecracker seconds from explosion, a pure unadulterated joy only truly seen on a christmas morning.

Staring at Charon like he was a gift wrapped present. 

“You know I have it,” Hermes said, hushed and exhilarated. “Because you’ve seen me with it.” 

The world dropped out from underneath Charon. His heart stopped and turned to frozen stone. He was _perceived._

“You know I have it,” Hermes said again, sounding near laughter. Hysteria bubbling under his skin. “Because you’ve _seen_ me with it. You’ve seen me _wearing_ it.” 

Never before in Charon’s life had he ever been so afraid. He was massive, he towered over everyone, he had a death glare that could make nuns fear for their immortal soul. He had stared down the underbelly of the world and reassured them of their spot in hell. He was simply not someone that was intimidated or belittled. 

But under Hermes’ wide eyed joy, Charon was nothing more than prey. 

He knew. He _knew_. What might have been speculation before was out in the open fact. 

Standing on that sidewalk, Hermes had the full knowledge of Charon’s nightly admirations. That he had seen so much more of Hermes than he might have first assumed. That he adored Hermes from afar. That he had paid for the privilege to do so. 

That he routinely masturbated to his enticing visage. 

Hermes _knew_.

Hat be damned, Charon’s flight instinct kicked into high gear. He turned in place and marched away from Hermes, determined to get home as fast as he could. He could live without headgear. Maybe he could bar his door and never leave again. He could board up his windows and survive off the leather of his couch. 

Charon stomped down the sidewalk, hands stiff at his sides, face swollen out of pure humiliation. 

“Oh Charon?” 

Charon stalled, his throat closed up. He should have kept walking, ignored the tantalizing sing song of Hermes’ voice. 

But he’d already given Hermes everything. 

And knew he’d only continue to give more. 

He turned and looked at his predator, pleading for sympathy. 

Hermes had his confidence back, the kind that he slid into when he was on camera. The second skin he wore even when wore nothing at all. He had one hand on the coffee shop door, paused to scan Charon, look him up and down. He met Charon’s eyes again and his grin turned positively feral. 

“I _do_ hope you see me later,” he said. 

Charon shook hard enough to vibrate in place, shivering out of an animalistic sense of fear. He swallowed and it was like pushing sand down his throat. 

Hermes cackled as he stepped into the coffee shop. 

____

It was almost 9. 

Charon stood in the middle of his home staring at the innocuous phone that sat on his couch. The screen was blank, but Charon knew the second he turned it on he would be greeted with a placard of wings and a promise. It sat pleasantly on his couch, innocent as could be. 

Hermes’ words echoed in Charon’s ears like a song on the radio. 

It sounded like a request. It might have been an invitation, maybe a taunt, but it sounded as if Hermes _wanted_ him to watch. 

Charon stood in his living room, arms tight across his chest, frowning at the traitorous piece of modern technology he should have thrown away. He glanced to his computer where he knew he wouldn’t do any work. The cleanliness of his kitchen that he’d given a deep scrub that afternoon to do _something._ The bed where he wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

Then his phone again. 

The clock ticked over from 8:59 to 9:00. 

Charon dove for the phone. He was quick to turn it on, the streaming site already up and running. He sat at the edge of his couch, his foot bouncing furiously as he watched the loading wheel spin in place. 

Then. The camera turned on. 

Hermes was out of focus, leaning forward as he set up his rig. A sudden awareness that his camera was on and he was seen by thousands brought a smile to his face. He stepped away from the lens and sat back onto his bed. 

He wasn’t dressed in any particular way. Nothing alluring, nothing fancy, nothing remotely sexy save for the sheer fact it was _him._ He wore the same t-shirt and jeans that he had on at the coffee shop earlier that day. He bounced slightly on the bed, hands folded between his legs, and a slight impish smile on his face. He paused, long and hard, staring in the camera, looking as if he was holding back giggles. 

“Hi,” he said slowly, drawing the word out. “I’m afraid we’re going to do something a little different tonight.” 

His brows pinched in pity, but there was nothing apologetic about his smile. 

“For all of you that signed in tonight, I know you’re expecting a certain kind of show, but I have something a little more. . . special in mind.” 

Charon did not particularly like the way Hermes said _special._

“Each and every one of you will get a full refund for tonight’s show which should show up in your bank accounts in 2 to 3 days. And for this, I am deeply sorry.” 

No he wasn’t. He wasn’t remotely. Not even in the slightest. It was evident.

“But for today, I have a very important public service announcement for one person and one person only.” 

Hermes’ smile dropped and he looked deadly serious, wriggling in his seat to get fully comfortable. The mere motion and the specificity of the hour enough to bring heat between Charon’s legs. He disregarded it, wondering what the message could be. 

“Are you ready?” he asked. “Because I hope you’re listening very carefully.” 

Charon leaned in a little closer. 

Hermes raised his hands. 

_Hi._ he said. 

Charon’s eyes widened. Hermes was signing. He was speaking in one of the many languages he knew, but in specific the one that Charon knew. Charon could feel his heart rate pulsate in his neck, could hear it in his ears. It felt like the shared language between them meant Hermes was talking to him, but how many others on the stream knew ASL? There had to be more than just Charon. 

Charon tried to push away the thought. It was just fantasy again. 

Surely, Hermes wasn’t talking to him. 

_I want you,_ Hermes said, a pleasant almost newscaster smile on his face. _To bang me like a screen door in a hurricane._

Charon’s eyes widened. His grip tightened on the phone. He stopped breathing. 

_I want you to plow me like freshly fallen snow,_ Hermes continued. He bobbed his head to the side as if he were explaining something to a child. 

Charon could no longer feel his legs. 

_I want you to dick me down so hard that I go cross eyed._

Hermes’ gaze was the same predatory laughter from the sidewalk, staring right through the screen as if he could see Charon on the other side. 

_I want you to F-U-C-K M-E._ Hermes punctuated each and every letter, his fingers shifting into the sign hard enough to turn his knuckles white. His eyes widened with murderous intent. 

_Now that I have literally spelled it out for you,_ Hermes said, giving no quarter. _If you want your stupid hat back, meet me in our usual spot tomorrow._

Hermes dropped his hands to his lap with a _whump_ of finality. He breathed in deep, his chest rising with an intensity akin to anger. He smiled wide and grim and leaned back up into the camera. It shifted in and out of focus and Hermes’ hand went off screen to rest on top of it. 

“Is that clear enough for you?” he asked and the feed went black. 

Charon didn’t know for how long he sat there holding his phone. His hand shook and it was sometime before he finally took another breath. He stared out wide into the dark of his apartment, seeing nothing but the after images of Hermes spelling out his exact intentions. 

The phone slipped from Charon’s hand and hit the floor. That time, the screen cracked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> . . . idiot
> 
> Twitter: [OhNo_Hello](https://twitter.com/OhNo_Hello)  
> Tumblr: [ScrumpyLikesThings](https://scrumpylikesthings.tumblr.com/)


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